


Still waters run deep

by gunmetalgray



Category: Marvel, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Mutant Reader, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunmetalgray/pseuds/gunmetalgray
Summary: people meet; things happen..





	1. [prologue] Summer of 1983

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: "I don't trust you around sand."
> 
> a/n: angst in brewing; shit foreshadowing; idek, I had this idea for a while…

* * *

 

Few days after the mansion’s rebuild the sun sits high in the sky. The heat and humidity pinch the skin leaving one dressed in the lightest clothes one owns. Not a cloud in sight, one may think the calm before the storm pents up. Birds quietly chipping, distant hum of sprinkles, and diluted children chatter fill the warmth creating an idle soundtrack of a typical relaxed summer day.

Students go around their own way leisurely enjoying the sun. Some sunbathe around the pond others have their lunch under the thick shade of the trees. A pair of blue eyes observes the scattered younglings in the yard.

Those eyes belong to a tired man, a man with a vision of a better tomorrow. A vision he conducted in a plan of opening a school. A plan well thought out only to be temporarily obstructed several years later. Said obstruction took its toll on him, his students, friends, and family, even resulting in an utter destruction of the mansion where his school was situated. With the help of his friends and students the school was rebuilt into a better place.

While the recovery of material loss is fairly easy, the recovery of one’s mental and emotional state is a long process involving the support of any friend or family close around oneself.

The first step to recovery the man took is the rebuild of a school that symbolises hope for a better future and most importantly a home for so many outcasts. The second step now is letting everyone take their time deal with the outcome of the difficult times they’ve encountered previously.

“Charles ?” a soft voice pulls the man out of his trance followed by audible steps as Moira approaches him. She places a hand on his shoulder which he covers with his own, gaze not averting from the scenery laid beyond the window.

“Charles are you worrying over them again ? Come on let’s go enjoy the day.” Moira suggests.

“They are my students darling I will always worry. It has only been a week and a few days after Cairo,” he turns to look at her, “I sense their loss, I wish I could help them.”

“But you do, your part has been done so far. Now it’s their turn to help themselves ease the pain and grief. It’s not like we can make them feel as careless as toddlers playing in the sand.” She frowns.

Charles smiles at her.

“What ?” Confusion bestows her face.

“You are a genius,” he kisses her knuckles, “absolutely genius. That’s it. Now that the school has been rebuild we can all take a break. The kids can have a proper summer vacation. I know just the person to call.” He grins at her.

“Wait, what do you mean ? Proper summer vacation? Charles ?”

“I know a hydromorph. He has a house. At a beach. Married with three kids. Lovely family. We can ask them if they would accommodate a horde of kids for the rest of this month. By my calculations we have approximately a month left before the new school year starts.” He rolls to his desk and calls said family. The family accepts and Charles makes a mental announcement.

The next day Raven, Moira, and the students busy themselves packing and loading the buses. The mood is significantly amped with everyone happy to spend the month resting at the sea side. A boy with crutches and a fully casted leg stands confused in the middle of the busy lobby. Apparently he did not get the memo.

A blue man approaches the boy. “Hank what’s going on ? Where is everyone going ?” the boy asks.

“Ah, Peter, the professor organised a monthly vacation for everyone except him, you, and me. Moira and Raven are going too while him and I prepare for the upcoming school year,” the man named Hank explains.

“So I’m not going ? Why ? I want to go too, what am I supposed to do here alone with you two ?” Confusion creases his brows.

“I’d let you go but I need to run some tests on you. A normal broken knee takes months to recover but with you I want to know for sure. And to be honest, I don’t trust you around sand.” Hank shrugs.

Peter’s eyes widen. “Sand… ? They are going to spend a month in a desert, what ? What kind of vacation is that ?”

“Beach, Peter, they are going to the beach. You need to stay here, no ‘buts’, that leg has to heal. I swear if you try to sneak out I’ll break your other one,” Hank growls.

Peter stomps as fast as he can away from Hank. On his way to the professor’s study he encounters his friends. Excited they offer to help him pack but Peter defeatedly admits he can not go. Not because he is not allowed, God forbid they ever find out, but because he is tired and can not be bothered to sweat off his trapped leg. Also he lies about how he might get sand in the cast. They totally buy it. Okay they somewhat do. Jean sees through the lies but lets him be. No need to add tension to where tension already exists.

Peter asks Charles if he may go several annoying times and Charles’ answer stays a firm “No.” Charles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not a chance, our decision is final. It is for your own good Peter. When the cast comes off Hank will have you on his DNA serum for a week or two. We all know you will sprint off. We just do not want you to hurt yourself right away.”

The boy glares at the carpet. It is new, probably almost identical to the previous one. He follows an existing pattern with his crutch, changing the direction of the hairs. When Charles ends speaking Peter turns around and silently heads for his room. His head hangs low and his steps quicken.  
Charles apologizes as the boy runs away. “I am sorry Peter. Please understand we do this because we care.”

Peter only speeds up. He locks himself in his room where he dwells the next few days. Lack of communication kicks in right away. The too hot nights, imagining what-if scenarios, doubt in oneself have him tossing and turning. An unusual tiredness takes over. Sleeping all day, barely touching any food drains his energy leaving room for an unease to nest in his gut.

A long month lays ahead. A month he would rather have sand in his cast.

 

 


	2. Of distractions, old friends, and new beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: “I think few years of Europe was enough. I could use some epic teen turmoil.”
> 
> a/n: vaguness extravaganza; nostalgic sappiness; telepaths know their shit; is charles a friend, yes he is; why are you flirting with charles, no you’re not flirting with charles, are you? idk ?

* * *

 

Sitting in a café, enjoying a cup of coffee while taking in the weather is a great pastime activity for those who need to shut out the business of their surroundings. Add a good book to it and the world becomes a background noise, a distant blur fading away as one immerse themselves in fiction.

The gentle rain freshens the sweet summer smell as random passers by try to avoid what to some is the best part of summer. The cold drizzle contrasting the hot summer is incredibly relaxing. It gives off a certain note of comfort and otherworldly sensation while making the skin crawl in the most pleasant ways.

Yup, today is one of those snooze days.

Just as you start traveling in Asimov’s world a blur that seems to have an outline of a girl sits at your table. The reading focus is gone with you now looking up from the book to study this person’s features. You are met with a very attractive blonde girl relatively younger than yourself, a college student most likely, a conclusion follows judging by the book she is carrying. Physically your type of girl. She smiles, radiating a way too familiar warmth and friendly love for being a complete stranger.

“Y/N.” A stranger yes she is, but she knows your name. A pair of captivating eyes holds your attention. What is captivating about them is not the colour neither the shape but the glow and expression in which they are framed.

It all clicks into place.

“Charles ?” you question, eyebrow raised subtly. The girl smiles and you mirror it. Oh yes it is him very much so. She nods, rather he does and your smile turns into a chuckle.

“You could’ve called. Or send a letter even,” you playfully scold.

“Hmm, yes but it is faster this way and you dear friend are exceptionally remarkable at hiding,” he notes.

“How you’ve been Charles ?” you ask, noticeably fidgeting.

“Well, dear Y/N, knowing your hatred for sidetracking here it is, I need a new art teacher. And I am quite well, thank you for asking.”

“Is that so? And here I was thinking you’ve missed me or something,” you chuckle.

“It is also a perfect excuse to see you. I have been looking for teachers this past week. When your name popped up as a highly recommended engineering teacher I remembered I have Hank but then I thought to myself you might also like the idea of teaching a more liberal subject. I mean who better understands the expression of emotions through various media.” He explained and just couldn’t help but smirk, knowing he would hit the sweet spot.

You gulp some coffee and squeeze your lips tight.

“Hmm I don’t know Charles, overly exited kids and moody teens ain’t my preferred environment. A mansion full of them sounds challenging, draining even. I might turn into a time bomb.” You frown at the idea while staring at your cup.

“Oh you are just being dramatic,” he rolls his eyes, “but give it a thought please, and give me a call. Hank and I are expecting you any time.”

“Will do Charles.” And with that he leaves the girl.

Said girl is now dazed and confused, so you immediately sell a lie, also known as using your powers to implant a false feeling of a mild emotional nausea, and you explain how she was not feeling well and how you sat her down. Even give her water which helps her swallow the lie. Now you slowly reverse the feeling and when she calms down she gratefully thanks you for the “help”.

A mental note forms -remind Charles to take better care of his messengers-

Oh boy, today is so not going to be one of those snooze days.

Expecting you anytime does not always mean take the first available flight to New York and appear at the mansion’s gate at 2 am.

Expecting you anytime does not always mean overwhelm Charles with positive emotions and make him wake up with a jolt at 2 am.

Yet here you are in your Ford Mustang at an unusually stormy night, heavy rain pounding all around as the metal gate slides open.

Driving in, you intake the aura of the school. It’s quite peaceful but there is a lingering gloom at certain rooms. Probably nightmares. The apocalypse aftermath residue most likely.

Parking at the back entrance a grumpy Charles welcomes you and a grinning face beams back at him. Sprinting with an arm draping over your head through the rain the stupid grin never leaves your face. You shake the water off quickly so you can launch at Charles and hug tight, him returning the affectionate gesture back despite second hand soaking.

A soft and genuine “Missed you…” falls from your lips as happiness fills the room and accents the glow emitting from your faces.

“You could have called,” he retorts making both laugh.

“It’s faster this way…” you snort.

“So I guess this is a yes.”

You nod. “Well,” you nervously rub your neck, “I think few years of Europe were enough. I could use some epic teen turmoil.”

“It is settled then. Now let’s get you dry and rested and we can talk in the morning over breakfast. May I?” he raises two fingers at your direction as if asking to look in your mind. Being well too familiar with this specific permission-asking gesture you smile leaning into his touch. With his fingers at your temple he gives you an imprint of the mansion, the important things, and a list of every current student attending the school.

Couple of years has passed since your last verbal conversation. Yet words can wait until the morning for words are now replaced by a pleasant silence. A silence that gives the liberty of soaking up the overwhelming moment as it accompanies both on the way to your rooms. You hug tight again and bid your good nights.

The room he chose for you is quite cozy. Upon entering a presumably soft bed catches your inspecting gaze. Said bed sits in the middle against the wall on the right, accompanied by two bedside tables. A clock rests on the right one and a lamp on the left one.

Sighing you leave your keys on the desk on your left right next to the entry door.  
As you start undressing you take in the room, the very dorm-like furnish still gives off a very home-like aura. Left to the desk is a large bookshelf, assorted literature already filling it up.

Another mental note forming -Charles needs to stop indulging my introversion and laziness-

Chuckling to his thoughtfulness you shake your head and look for shirt buttons to undo. With the buttons undone you raise your head and see a door leading to, most likely, a personal bathroom. Next to it a mirror takes up a large chunk of the wall. At a better glance the mirror is mounted on a slide door hiding a wardrobe. Its dimensions help a single window disperse light equally around the room.

That same window takes up almost the entire wall opposite of the entry door. Embellished in soft pearly drapes and dark heavy velvet curtains it promises soft daylight and pitch dark nights when needed. The best part; It looks over at the gardens too.

Right now the bed is back in focus. Presumably soft is now confirmed soft. It has been a long day and sleep is most welcome right now even if something scratches your mind. For a few brief seconds, that gloomy uneasiness from before gets stronger and mostly concentrated at a room few doors down across the hallway. Shrugging it off a dreamless sleep takes over and a new day of liveliness awaits.

 

 


	3. Of work, new friends, and some old memories...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Hank's bewildered expression might as well present itself in the form of a pulsing halo constructed of neon question marks floating around his head.
> 
> a/n: oh look an update; I still don't know where this is going but it's not down hank's pants; happy reading peeps!

* * *

 

 

The quiet and partially dark morning hints somewhere around the civil dawn hours. A look over at the clock on the night stand immediately becomes a squinty curse at a hot red 05:38 am. Few tosses and turns later a full body stretch pushes a long loud yawn out of your lungs, the hot red now changed to 05:42 still persists on burning your eyes out.

Given that sleep has no intention of coming back you decide a hot shower and few quick laps around the mansion's perimeter should replace it. Cursed be sleep for being the best bud during long flights, blessed be jogging for being the best bud during sleep's infidelity.

Clothes and headphones on, watch mounted on wrist and of to warm up, about time to get the blood pumping.

The humid air falls heavy on your lungs hazing your mind while the post downpour chills push blood back in your head keeping the focus on the self-given task. A mix tape helps relieve the monotony making you alternate your pace between each lap. When the playlist's tempo speeds up the route spices up from flat track running to switching direction between the concrete and lush terrain the place offers.

Knowing the playlist by heart allows to sync a simple front flip over a railing with the climax of the last song. Everything roughly calculated, with four more strides and one jump you'll land on the grass.  
The burn in your muscles reaches serene enjoyment levels. The kind where pain all over combined with great music tricks you into loosening up the control and restrictions set to tame your most troublesome power. The focus is now on speeding up, feet lightly tapping on the ground, heart pumping to the beat of the song.

One. A deep breath and that familiar gloom scratch at your gut.

One and a half stride and despondency has turned into anxiety.

Two. Hands curled in shivering fists, shallow breathing and tears threaten to appear. Uncertainty. Fear. Everything spins.

Two and a half. Focus completely lost. Those emotions claw at you as if you are the last life line.

Three. Abrubt slow down. In a dream this  
person dwelves in. A familiar immobility, abandonment, and guilt, the usual nightmare package.

Three to four turns into four, five, six, seven, eighth, a thump in the concrete railing hands on the rim, bent over and just taking it in.

Keeping the position you focus on waking this person up. The usual two-step nightmare wake up routine. Step one: imprint the urge to scream. They do not scream. But they are awake.

Straightening up you take a deep breath. Step two: overwhelm this person with the sensation of fresh air and the morning peacefulness. They are now dazed and immediately go back to sleep.

Hands on chest feeling your own heartbeat steady down, a side stich stabs your left side. The headphones now hang on your neck, the outro distant and slowly fading away into silence. With eyebrows creased, hands in fists, and jaw clenched tight you now look at the house over your sholder. It hits you all of a sudden - the gloomy aura from last night was a nightmare brewing up. A nightmare that spilled over and burned everything around.

Not sure who's dream was that but there's definitely someone else other than Charles, Hank, and yourself at the house.

Not wanting to pry on other people's privacy you decide to shut off again. You shouldn't have slacked like that on the first day back in the wild. It is dangerous out here.

-Be more thoughtful of what mutations you snatch- the years old note rings in your mind. A lesson learned long time ago. No use cursing your past-self now. What's done is done. Onwards with life. 

 

* * *

 

An alternating hot and cold shower purges the physical shiver of uninvited emotions while the walls go back up to enable normal function again. Now back to self-given chores.

One car repark and one sortment of personal belongings later you find yourself in the kitchen.

The presence of morning quiet around the mansion emphasizes the sizzling of the frying bacon. The sound tunes up with the bashing egg batter and the soft hissing of the toaster. Four plates are set and half filed with fresh vegetables to contrast the greasy half of the breakfast. As you serve equal amounts of fatty foods on the plates the inviting aroma disperses around the room and hallway attracting unsuspecting residents.

The calmness of the morning is interrupted with a creak of the door proceeded by a very sleepy blue Hank. First he eyes the plates. Second he eyes you. Third a very sleepy Hank suddenly is a very surprised Hank.

"Good morning?... I'm Y/N."

At a loss of words he glances back and forth between the plates and you several times. His brows crease, finger swishing between the food and you while his lips struggle between the words 'why', 'how', and 'you'.

"You must be Hank." You unsuccessfully muffle a giggle. Surprised and confused Hank is an adorable Hank." Charles said you were tall and blue."

His eyes close as he takes an audible calming breath.

"Yes, I am Hank and I have many questions." He adjusts his glasses and glares at you.

You chuckle then smile softly at him. "Okay, but coffee first?"

He nods and sits at the kitchen isle. You sit opposite of him placing three cups of the freshly brewed black liquid.

"So. What do you wanna know?" the coffee slightly burns your tongue but the bitter taste is comforting.

"W-" Hank starts at the same moment the door creaks again, both of your attention turns towards it. A grumpy Charles enters and glances at both. You hand over the third cup to Charles warning him to be careful not to burn himself.

"I see you two have met. Hank please stop glaring like that. We will answer your questions." Charles asures him.

"Hank this is Y/N, our new art teacher. I called, said 'expecting you anytime' and someone," now Charles is the one glaring at you, "interpreted anytime as showing up as soon as possible."

You cannot help but to smile "Alright, alright, it was an impulsive decision. I don't regret it. So, Hank, what else do you wanna know ?"

"Well why weren't I informed about this, how do you even know Charles ?... H-How do you knew Charles wanted coffee and why are there four plates of food ?... Hm ?" he raises his eyebrows.

"I've just told you, impulsive decision. Given time zones exist I arrived at... around 2 am last night ?... yes, and Charles telepathically asked around to see if anyone's awake, I said I'm down in the kitchen so he asked for a cup." Charles simply nods when Hank non-verbally asks for conformation. "And I can sense there are a total of four people at this house. I thought it'd be nice to make you all breakfast."

Charles clears his throat. "Hank you already know how we have met," he points at you while leaning towards Hank, "the 'scary' mutant I met at my lecture's after party."

"Oooooh, the one who stroke the fear of God in Charles' bones. I see. Interesting. Is that your mutation ? To make people fear you ?" Sarcastic and curious Hank is also an adorable Hank.

"Eh ?... Sort of ? I guess. I'm an empath. I am able to control, feel, cause, and manipulate emotions, even locate people if it ever comes to it. It is a very useful mutation as long as I use it moderately... Things get a little hectic if I over do it." A bitter laugh slips out from your lips only to be drown in just as bitter coffee.

Charles catches the subtle undertone in your voice. He knows better than anyone what letting the world's collective emotional state can do to a person.

Uncomfortable silence threatens to engulf the room so he offers a way out "And... being a type of telepathic ability it also comes with some sort of anti-telepathy aura."

"Which translates to: my mind is by default safe from rude-" you frown at Charles, "intruding telepaths!"

Hank smiles. With a raised eyebrow you shrug gesturing a 'just saying'. Hank understands. That response makes him bite his lip holding back an honest giggle while his eyes are firmly locked on yours.

Another mental note forms in a flash of an active thought -don't start wondering off in the realm of What-if-Hank Daydreams, you've just met the guy, break eye contact-

You shift in your seat and start speaking. "So let's eat. Maybe I'll meet resident no. 3. If not please don't tell me who it is. I'd rather meet people randomly, like I just met you, Hank."

"Well, that's also interesting. Might take a while. His leg is in a cast," Hank notes, poking at his food. "He barely leaves his room these days." he gives Charles a stern look.

You clear your throat. "All in good time then. If you'd be kind enough to take him breakfast that'd be nice. I hate when I cook and it goes to waste," you state.

"He will. Hank willingly took that responsibility. Nursing the injured." Charles jokes. "Thank you for the meal. It is very delicious," he smiles at you gratefully then adds mentally 'Hank is horrible at cooking'.

"My pleasure, Charles. Well I'm done. Now if you excuse me I'll go over some work." They both nod in acknowledgement and you leave the room before any laughter bursts out at that last comment.

 

Later on, maybe an hour or two deep into paperwork, Charles joins to both discuss teaching strategies and class schedule agreeing that Fridays are best left for creativity lessons. Charles takes care of some errands and you make calls recruiting teachers while Hank works on some trinkets.

Overall it is a standard work day not involving the pressure of such day. By the time you are done lunch break comes around as well as a knock on the front door. Hank answers it and shortly after you see him carry a huge box to his study. It looks too heavy for one man to carry and there is a bold black handwriting on the sides that reads 'fragile'. Probably some intricate equipment parts. Hank has no problem handling the delivery. Pretty sure Charles mentioned something about super strength and Hank in the same sentence once. If proven so you could use a mutation like that in your little collection. Not that the goal is to snatch any useful mutation that stumbles across but hey you have never hurt anyone using your own actual power.

During lunch you see that the dishes aren't washed, but what worryingly catches your eye is that three are empty and one is barely touched, just a few bites here and there. The gloom is awake at least. Hank notices your slight frown and shrugs. It's a quick and quiet meal before returning to chores... Again.

After lunch everyone goes their own ways around the house. Hank finds you working on the assigned teaching programme and asks you to spar, or as he words it "Test out the new tweaks in the danger room." You accept given there is nothing much to do. The house is empty due to summer break so to kill the pending boredom all you can do is excessively move some muscles.

Hank throwing a few test punches is a perfect chance to respond back with full strength. He accepts the challenge. It is a short dance before he slams you against the floor.

"Super strength, huh?" He nods and you grin at him, one hand wrapped tight around his exposed wrist, a casual skin on skin conact brief enough to copy only the strength portion of his mutation. Another ace added to the arsenal of usefulness collected over the years.

"Shit, ...sorry, I..." he hesitates, giving you an opening to experiment with this new acquired quirk of yours. A quick manoeuvre and he's the one under you.

"Don't be, I can take it." You pull him up. "Again?" you question peeking at his aura.

Hank is amused. "Again."

An intense repetition of intricate moves follows. This time you mirror. Match. Let Hank have the last throw. Tap it out.

A good half an hour later both you and Hank are painting, sitting on the floor just staring at each other.

"Good fight dude. You almost wore me out."

Hank's bewildered expression might as well present itself in the form of a pulsing halo constructed of neon question marks floating around his head. Just plain adorable.

"Are you sure you don't have any other powers? That was impressive!" Hank jokes by complementing.

"Hey, I only mirrored what you've thrown at me," you lie. He doesn't question it.

"Good to have someone to physically rival me. I need the training after the whole Cairo ordeal." His face stills and a slight frown forms, negative energy buzzes off him immediately as soon as he realizes what he's said.

"I understand... I could've helped but I was caught up in my own stuff. I just wasn't experienced enough." You shrug then add with uncertainty "Scared actually." Another lie.

"I understand too." For few moments only pants echo throughout the danger room. He takes a deep breath and inquires "But seriously though, I have abnormal physical strength and you matched me. Are you sure you are only an empath?"

"Let me quote myself Hank, 'I am able to control, feel, cause, and manipulate emotions' which inherently means I can somewhat control people. Plus you were so surprised I did manage to catch you off guard few times." You grin at his now, again, surprised face. "Let's analyze the data and call it a night, shall we?"

Hank agrees, springs on his feet at the same time pulling you up with him. Analysis takes longer than planned, almost all of what is left of the afternoon, lasts all the way to the early hours of the night. The watch reads 10:28 pm since the last time you have checked it. An audible yawn throughout the control room hints at both to go to bed.

The goodnights are short followed off with a third shower today. A thought crossed your mind -read until sleep catches up- but sleep decides to latch on upon contact with the damned cloud-like bed. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> will try to finish this idk...


End file.
